


Malady

by la_faerie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hand Jobs, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:18:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_faerie/pseuds/la_faerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>That feeling in Harry’s stomach is turning into an ache, and he isn’t sure why he feels so frustrated. It’s only six o’clock in the morning, and this is just a silly game. The problem is that he wants to make Liam see, and he can’t. If only they weren’t in the kitchen. There’s a whole table between them now, and it’s too much. If only Harry could lean over and get to Liam somehow.</i>
</p>
<p>Harry and Liam play I Spy, kiss a little bit, and get each other sick, all in an effort to figure out where they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Malady

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is meant to be a fill for [this prompt](http://liam-harry.livejournal.com/3256.html?thread=2744#t2744) over at the Lirry ficathon.
> 
> I've entirely run out of ways to thank [Lindsay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/icecreamsocialist/pseuds/icecreamsocialist) for everything she is to me. At this point, I should just start sending Subway gift cards as payment.

Harry peers out the tour bus window through an open seam in the blinds; he’s unable to see anything, the landscape enveloped by an impenetrable fog. The sun hasn’t risen yet, and he can’t make out where they are. He wonders fleetingly how the driver is even able to navigate the bus in this type of weather. 

Harry stifles a yawn and rolls out of his bunk. Despite the fact that he’d only gone to sleep a few hours ago, an inescapable restlessness had shaken him awake, and he can’t lie still any longer. He sees a light on in the kitchenette, pads down the aisle of the bus towards it, assuming someone had left it on before going to sleep. He automatically reaches a hand up to switch it off, but stops when he notices another person in the room. Liam is sitting at the little table eating a bowl of cereal. He’s sat right next to the window, but the shade is drawn, the overhead light casting Caravaggian streams of bright light mixed with shadow across his face.

“Morning,” Harry croaks out.

“What are you doing up?” Liam asks, giving him a smile that’s entirely too cheerful given the current hour.

“Could ask you the same thing,” Harry doesn’t quite answer as he pokes at various cereal boxes, trying to decide whether or not he’s actually hungry. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that Liam is watching him, still waiting for a real response. “Couldn’t sleep,” he offers.

“Same for me,” Liam nods in between bites of his Fruity Pebbles. “I felt so wound up after the show last night. I’m not sure I slept at all.”

Harry decides he isn’t hungry, but takes a seat across the table from Liam. “You’ll crash at some point,” he warns. “Especially if you’re eating that sugary crap. Aren’t you supposed to be eating all sorts of healthy foods now, anyway?”

Liam gives a devilish little grin. “Yeah, but this cereal is sick. Take a look, it changes the milk to different colors.” Harry wrinkles his nose, but the swirling rainbow of colors mixing in the milk is kind of cool.

“Do you have any idea where we are right now?” Harry asks after moment. “I looked out the window a bit ago, but I couldn’t tell.”

“No clue,” Liam admits, laughing as he realizes it. “How many people in the world do you think there are who honestly don’t know where they are at any given moment?”

“Other musicians on tour, I suppose?” Harry says, and Liam nods, this response seeming to satisfy him. “It’s a strange thing,” Harry adds, “constantly being on the move like this. We don’t have the chance to _be_ anywhere. Can you really be anywhere if you’re constantly travelling?” Liam’s eyebrows knit together, and he looks like he’s really thinking about it. Harry gives a shrug. It’s a little early in the day for any type of meaningful conversation.

He absentmindedly plays with the edge of the blind, pulling it up just a little, teasingly letting a sliver of light into the room, and then pulling it back down. 

“You’ll break it,” Liam says, in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“I won’t,” Harry insists. But even as he does, the blind slips out of his hand and rolls all the way up with a loud cracking noise. 

The kitchenette is bathed in a soft pink morning light. The opaque fog is fading into a gentle morning mist through which the sun makes its first appearance of the day. Harry thinks it makes Liam look younger than he is; all the edges that anxiety and lack of sleep have cut into his face are smoothed out as he laughs into the last bits of his cereal.

An odd and not entirely unpleasant sensation starts in Harry’s chest and drips, slow and sweet like honey, down to the pit of his stomach. He has to look away from Liam, and turns his gaze out the window instead. The surrounding area seems to be suburban, at least. They’re not stuck on a highway in the middle of nowhere. It makes sense, as Harry thinks they’re due in Detroit in a few hours. They’re currently passing some kind of strip mall, one of those places you only see in America, one endless conglomeration of stores with simple but rhythmic names: Old Navy, Best Buy, Radio Shack.

“Hey,” Harry taps on the window glass to get Liam’s attention. “I spy with my little eye something red.”

Liam catches onto the game immediately, and presses a hand to the glass, looking outside intently. “A red traffic light?”

“No.”

“That red car all by itself in the parking lot?”

“Good guess, but no.”

“A stop sign?” 

“Liam, do you see any stop signs around?”

“No, but I can’t think of anything else that’s red!” Liam laughs and rubs at his eyes. “I don’t know, Harry.”

That feeling in Harry’s stomach is turning into an ache, and he isn’t sure why he feels so frustrated. It’s only six o’clock in the morning, and this is just a silly game. The problem is that he wants to make Liam see, and he can’t. If only they weren’t in the kitchen. There’s a whole table between them now, and it’s too much. If only Harry could lean over and get to Liam somehow.

“Hurry up,” he cries, a bit wildly. “We’re about to drive past it!”

“Oh!” Liam’s eyes light up. “Target! The logo for Target. Actually, everything in front of the Target store is red. How did I miss it?”

“Correct!” Harry feels a wave of relief washing over him, the feeling almost too much for just a little game. “It was the logo.” The bus rolls past the Target store, the red bullseye blinking out at Harry and Liam, reflecting on the window in front of them.

“Oi! What the in the name of holy Ireland is the racket in here?” a sleep-wracked voice yells out at them. 

Niall is standing in the doorway with a blanket wrapped around him, one hand over his eyes to block out the daylight.

“Sorry Niall,” Liam apologizes. “Neither of us could sleep.”

“I don’t care if you’re sleeping or not,” Niall grouches out. He probably means to hold one finger to his lips to tell them to be quiet, but in his sleep exhaustion, he ends up waving his whole hand in front of his mouth. Harry bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Keep it down!” Niall insists. “Zayn will kill a man if he gets woken up, and I don’t fancy the idea of covering up a murder.”

“Zayn’s dead to the world right now, we won’t wake him,” Harry assures. “I’m sorry that we woke you, though. I didn’t realize we were being so loud.”

“Yeah, yeah. You two like to be secretly rowdy together, I get it. It’s alright,” Niall waves a hand at Harry, and starts to walk away.

Secretly rowdy together? That’s uncalled-for, Harry thinks. They were being quite peaceful. “You’d be shit at covering up a murder, anyway!” He yells after Niall, who flips him off without turning around, and melts back into the quiet darkness of the bunks. 

Harry turns to see Liam starting to stand up. He leaves Harry alone at the table, carries his breakfast dishes over to the sink, and rinses everything out. Harry realizes the spell is broken; their moment of soft sunlight, their game, the wondering where they are together, is over.

“I’m gonna try to relax for a bit, listen to some music,” Liam says. “Will you be alright by yourself?” Harry startles a little bit at the question. “You know, until we arrive at the venue?” Liam clarifies.

Harry stares at him, his brown eyes searching Harry’s face in a worried sort of way. “Yeah,” Harry replies, the word thick in his throat. “I’ll be fine. Of course I will be.” He hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s trying to talk himself into it, but the truth is that maybe he is. “Thanks for asking, though.” 

Liam gives a carefree shrug, like it’s nothing. Like he’d happily ask anyone the same question. He probably would, is the thing, and Harry realizes he’s not sure he likes that idea. “See you, Harry,” Liam says in a hushed voice, and holds a finger to his lips, as he follows in Niall’s footsteps down the dark aisle.

Harry doesn’t say anything back to Liam, and remains sitting alone at the table for a long time. He isn’t yet sure what exactly had woken him up earlier, can’t define it. He watches the landscape pass by outside with unseeing eyes. The clearest picture in his mind is of Liam just before he had left the kitchenette: imitating Niall with his call to be quiet, one finger drawn to his pursed lips, a red bullseye.

+

Harry purposefully waits until Louis heads off to his bunk to chat on the phone to Eleanor. He wants Liam alone. It’s not that he’s being a stalker or anything, he tells himself. It’s just that he’s had an idea. He knows how to get to Liam.

“I spy a sad sack waiting for me to brighten up his day,” Harry declares, walking into the lounge, flopping down on the sofa across from Liam.

Liam makes a show of looking around the room. “No, I don’t see anything in here matching that description.”

“I am going to brighten up your day though,” Harry insists, leaning forward like he has a marvellous secret to share with Liam. Which he does, in his own opinion. 

“Josh woke me up this morning by serenading me with snippets from Jay-Z’s new album, I honestly don’t know if you can beat that.”

“Strip I Spy.”

“What?”

“If you correctly spy the thing I’m thinking of, then you win and I have to take off an item of clothing,” Harry explains in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. “But if you can’t guess it, even if the bus passes it by before you have the chance, you lose and you have to strip.”

Liam is squinting at him like he needs glasses and is trying to bring Harry into focus. “Why though? What’s the point?”

“Because if not, it’s just a silly game of I Spy. We need an incentive.”

“Do you often need incentives just to spend time with people?”

Harry balks. He crosses his arms over his chest. “If you don’t want to play you can just say so,” he spits out, inwardly cringing at how petulant he sounds. It’s just that Liam always plays with Louis or even with Zayn. Never with Harry. It’s not really fair. 

Liam glances around the room, casually this time, not making a show of it. When he glances back at Harry, it’s with a grin. “That’s not what I’m saying. And I stand by my point, there isn’t any sort of sad sack in this room waiting for you to brighten his day.” But Liam is smiling so hard his eyes are crinkling up, and he kicks one foot out, tapping Harry’s shin. 

“I see,” Harry says in an even tone, meeting Liam’s gaze. He’s still smiling at Harry, friendly and warm. It’s not enough, somehow. 

Harry is a competitive guy, he’d auditioned for a singing contest, after all. But he’s found it more useful to downplay his competitive streak in favor of an easy-going manner lately. It’s just that Zayn sulks when he loses, and sleeps even more than usual like a great crashing bore. Niall is too energetic to sit still long enough to win or lose. Louis can be rather a vindictive sore loser, pulling a prank after-the-fact just to prove to himself that he’d been in control all along. It’s best not to get into it with any of them.

But Liam is something of an unknown quantity. He’s a hard worker, for sure, putting in the hours for both vocal and weight training. He’s ambitious as hell or, at least, he used to be. There’s a part of Harry that hopes he still is, hopes that he hasn’t lost that driving edge. Harry feels like his throat is burning with the visceral need to strip Liam down and draw out that little bit _more_ that he craves.

Harry pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor. He leans back into the sofa, making himself comfortable, the leather fabric feeling cool against his back.

“Your turn,” he says to Liam.

 

They end up sitting on the sofa facing each other, both stripped down to their pants. Harry is sitting cross-legged, both of his bony legs fitting on the sofa through sheer force of will. Liam has one arm slung over the back of the sofa, the shadow of armpit hair peeking out. Harry can see his chest moving as he breathes. He’s calm and steady, Harry notes, seemingly not thrown off by this scenario at all.

“So,” Liam begins, his eyebrows folding together as he tries to think through something. “What happens next?”

“One of us will have to lose our pants,” Harry drawls because it should be perfectly obvious.

“Yes, but which one of us is the winner? The one who keeps our pants on, or the one who doesn’t?”

Harry lets out a laugh that rings throughout the lounge. Liam isn’t smiling at him anymore. He has a look in his eye like freshly poured espresso, hot and ready to burn you up. Harry wants to swallow it down.

He reaches two fingers out and strokes down the back of Liam’s hand, the one that’s resting on the back of the sofa. “Maybe we can work that detail out together. Maybe we both win.”

Liam looks down at where the tips of Harry’s fingers are resting lightly on top of his hand. A smile starts to curl at the corners of his mouth, but, before he can say anything, a loud banging interrupts them.

“What an absolute mess! And people say I’m the filthy one. Let’s have it, then. What’s the meaning of this?” Louis is standing in the doorway, hands on hips, a football that he had kicked down the aisle of the bus under one arm.

“We’re playing I Spy,” Harry answers in his most calm voice because he knows it will drive Louis mad.

“I Spy?” Louis huffs. “Oh, a simple game of I Spy, is that all?” 

“Yes, that’s all,” Harry emphasizes. 

Louis is looking at Liam, who hasn’t said anything yet. “Niall said you two were being weird the other morning,” he says. “I told him he must have hallucinated, but now I see what he means. Fuck you two for proving him right.”

“Oh I understand,” Liam chimes in now. “Of course this is all about you being proven wrong.” His tone is gentle, and he’s smiling his softest smile at Louis. Liam would never be genuinely cutting to Louis, not after they both put so much effort into chipping away at each other’s armour in an effort to find the soft core underneath. But Harry can tell that Louis feels Liam’s comment, that he’s feeling this situation as some kind of personal affront. Louis narrows his eyes and juggles the football in his hands. 

“Maybe it’s none of my business,” he begins carefully. “But it certainly looks like one of you is about to spy the other one’s cock. Then you’ll have to ask yourselves whether it’s really just a game. And the answer to that might become my business. And Zayn’s business. And Niall’s business. Do you see?”

Harry rolls his eyes at this speech. Louis can be insightful but, honestly, he’s so self-important sometimes. He casts around the floor, picks up his discarded t-shirt, and throws it at Louis. It misses the mark, but Harry thinks his point gets across as Louis throws up a hand in surrender.

“We’ll never see how the game ends if you don’t leave,” Harry says, knowing it’s a little bit mean of him. Louis loves games just as much as he hates being left out of anything. But Louis is surveying the two of them warily, like he knows this isn’t a game that’s meant for him. He looks back and forth between them as though he can’t decide whom he needs to be more concerned about. 

“Alright, Tommo?” Liam asks quietly.

Louis heaves a sigh, all of his bravado deflating for a moment. “Alright,” he returns just as quietly. As he turns away he squares his shoulders, regaining some of his force. “I’m off to tell everyone that the only thing I spy back here is two massive idiots!” he calls, and then takes off down the aisle.

Harry turns back to Liam, but something has now shifted. Liam’s hands are in his lap, withdrawn into himself. He offers Harry a small smile, and it’s his usual friendly one.

“I’ve got my work out scheduled soon,” he says, standing up. “I should get ready.”

Harry has no idea how Liam could possibly need to get ready for a work out. He seems so fit as to be perpetually ready to break into a run at any moment. Still, he forces himself to return Liam’s smile. “Yeah, of course. You should definitely take care of that,” Harry agrees. “See you later, Liam.”

Liam collects his clothes and leaves, carrying them in a pile in his arms. Harry tries not to stare at Liam’s bare shoulders as he walks away. He tries not to stare at the long line of his spine, and at the inviting dip just above the waistline of his Calvin Klein briefs. Harry tries not to think about the fact that this is the second time he’s been left alone by Liam in recent memory, about how it makes him feel adrift, regardless of his actual physical location. His throat feels sore, like knives cutting all the way down to his chest. Maybe he’s coming down with strep throat, wouldn’t that be perfect. 

Harry brings his legs up under his chin, curling in on himself. He sits like that and loses track of time, trying to not think about how this recent neediness—this physical ache—seems to crop up around Liam specifically. 

+

America is different to home. Even the sun feels different—hotter—on Harry’s face, as it slants in through the bus window. They’re making their way through the middle of the country, Iowa, maybe. Although Harry wouldn’t know what makes Iowa different from Idaho or Illinois because, as he looks out the window, he can see across the flat plains, and can see that it’s miles and miles of the same endless nothing. He doesn’t know where boundary lines are, what demarcates one thing from another.

So, life is different now than it is on the small island that is home. Harry feels small himself here. Small and young, a new part of his body aching every day, tingling with some kind of deep need. Harry knows it isn’t homesickness that he’s experiencing. 

The game can be hard to play sometimes now when there isn’t much scenery to spy, but Harry still leans across the sofa to Liam, his gums aching like he’s been grinding his teeth, saying, “I Spy something big and blue.”

“The sky,” Liam answers, letting out a little laugh.

“Correct,” Harry breathes out, pulling his t-shirt over his head. 

He leans all the way into Liam, bare shoulder-to-bare shoulder, and feels something settle within himself at the contact. And Harry knows that what he’s experiencing is Liam-sickness. 

They’ve been caught out twice now during their game and, each time, it had prompted Liam to leave. Harry can’t have that happening anymore. He thinks of the first time they had played together, how his restlessness had been calmed by sitting alone in the kitchen with Liam at dawn. He decides that that time of day should their time, that those indefinable hours when late night bleeds into early morning should belong to them.

 

He catches Liam with an arm slung around his waist, Harry’s own body burning at the casual contact. The others have already crashed, finally having had enough video games for a few hours. Louis and Zayn are passed out in the lounge, and Niall in his bunk with his headphones on. Harry leads Liam to his bunk, and they both crawl in. It’s clearly too small, but they slouch with their backs against the wall, legs dangling over the edge.

It isn’t terribly conducive to I Spy either.

“I spy something green,” Liam whispers. A few minutes later when Harry still hasn’t guessed correctly, he laughs to himself and says, “It’s your eyes.”

“That’s cheating!” Harry declares. “I can’t see my own eyes, how am I supposed to guess them? You should take something off for trying to pull that one over on me.”

Liam cackles, but he lifts up his hips and shimmies out of his basketball shorts in compliance. He’s just in his pants again. They haven’t yet decided what that means, winning or losing.

Before Harry can settle on another object for I Spy, Liam speaks up. “I’ve been thinking about it, what you said the other week. About how it’s difficult to really be in one place with our lifestyle.” He looks at Harry as though checking to make sure he remembers that conversation. Harry gives him a little nod. He can’t articulate how often he thinks about that quiet morning with Liam, and knowing that Liam has thought about it too makes his hands shake. 

“Personally, I agree with you,” Liam continues. “It is difficult. But I’ve been watching the others, and I wonder if they feel the same. Take Niall, I mean, he’s so at home with himself, and that means he’s at home everywhere. And Louis makes himself at home wherever he is. And even Zayn is quietly steady. You’ll never force him into going somewhere he doesn’t want to. But…” he trails off.

“But…?” Harry picks up. “What about you, Liam? How does the travel lifestyle suit you?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t worked it out yet. But,” Liam lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “don’t you want to know what I think about you?”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“Sometimes I think you’d go anywhere, and do anything for anyone, no matter how it made you feel. No matter how lost you might be. Just because you’re too nice to say no. Then, other times, I wonder if you’re nice at all.”

Harry inhales a sharp breath as though he’s been pricked with a needle. _Has he not been nice to Liam?_ Liam gives him a gentle smile like he can tell what Harry’s thinking, and it’s that lovely, friendly smile that Harry doesn’t want to see. Maybe Liam is right about him.

“I’m not satisfied,” Harry says, whispering into the shell of Liam’s ear. “With your answer about yourself.” He leans back to look Liam in the eye. “Take off your pants.”

Liam stares back at Harry, that friendly smile gone, which was the goal all along. Liam opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it. Then, once again, he follows Harry’s instructions.

Harry has seen Liam naked before—they’ve all seen each other naked too many times to count by this point—but it’s never been like this. It’s never been Liam sitting right next to him in his bunk, smelling faintly of sweat and musk, with his cock resting against his thigh. The thing that’s _really_ different though, is the look in his eye, the glint of expectation.

Harry falls into that expectation. He buries his face in Liam’s shoulder, presses his mouth to Liam’s skin—not necessarily in a kiss, not yet—just tasting. He feels Liam gasping at his touch, an arm slinging around his back, drawing him in closer. 

Harry pulls his face away, leans up to Liam’s ear. “I think, somehow, you’ve won.”

“Does this mean you’re satisfied, then?” Liam asks, his voice gone more throaty than usual.

Harry pulls back to look Liam in the face again because _no, not quite yet_. He sets a hand on Liam’s thigh, and Liam doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. Harry looks down and can see, even in the dim lighting that Liam’s beginning to get hard. He rubs around Liam’s thigh in light teasing touches before finally getting a grip around Liam’s dick.

Now it’s Liam’s turn to fall into Harry, pressing his face against Harry’s neck, his body trembling. Harry’s body aches all over from the stimulation, from the feel of Liam’s dick in his hand as he strokes up and down, and Liam’s mouth breathing hot air against his skin. But, somehow, he’s also never felt more comfortable. He lets himself moan out loud, a pleased sound that he feels has been brewing in his throat for a long time.

However, it makes Liam sit up and run a finger along his jaw. “Can you be quiet?” He whispers.

“I don’t care if anybody hears. I don’t care if everybody hears,” Harry grits out in a determined tone.

“No, I mean, can you be quiet for me? We should keep this just for us. You know?”

Harry startles and stops moving his hand for a moment. Liam is looking at him with an  
intensity, one finger still resting along his jaw just near his chin.

Harry doesn’t say anything in response. He gives one definitive nod of his head, and strokes with a little more force along Liam’s cock. Liam hisses, and makes a movement to fall back against Harry, but Harry catches him. He catches Liam’s mouth with his own, swallowing that little hiss down, and many more that follow.

+

So far Harry and Liam have kept the game exclusively to the tour bus, but Harry can’t help himself now, he’s starting to think about it all the time. During meet and greet photos Harry stands next to Liam and spies all kinds of things: the way his lips part a few centimeters as he smiles for the camera, the way his jaw flexes as he takes a sip of water in between photos, the way his throat moves, his birthmark standing out to Harry, reminding him of targets.

Harry knows he’s meant to be paying attention to the fans during these sessions, but they don’t always rush up to him. Sometimes they approach Zayn with a shy but determined smile, or wrap an arm around Louis’ waist, or ask Niall to get down on one knee. This means Harry has Liam all to himself. 

He drapes himself all over Liam, leaning against his back and wrapping both arms around him. He’s feeling greedy all the time now, and trying to settle that constant buzzing ache just beneath his skin, that chattering of teeth. Leaning against Liam’s back, feeling his steady breathing, and matching his own breath to that rhythm is the only way he knows how to settle his internal restless yearning right now. Liam had said he wanted to keep the result of their game between the two of them, but Harry—finally feeling a brief moment of relaxation—doesn’t particularly care if the camera (like some kind of watchful eye) catches flashes of their strange intimacy.

Back on the tour bus, they’ve progressed to mutual hand jobs. Liam seems to “win” quite often, but Harry isn’t going to complain when it means he can get a hand on Liam’s dick. One night, Liam had reached over and pulled almost delicately at the waistband of Harry’s pants. He had a politely inquiring look on his face, and it made Harry laugh out loud. Liam must have taken the laugh as a challenge because he wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist to haul him in closer, and pulled his briefs down. Harry wasn’t laughing anymore after that.

He wasn’t laughing, and could barely breathe and keep up his own rhythm on Liam’s dick. That first time it was all awkward angles and aching wrists, but so good, and Harry didn’t last long. After that, they started sneaking into the lounge to situate themselves better on the sofa in there rather than in Harry’s bunk, but it’s still too close for real comfort. They always end up falling into each other, panting and licking at sweat-slick skin. Harry likes it. He likes being too close to Liam. 

Afterward, Harry always falls asleep resting on top of Liam, whether he’s lying on his back or on his stomach. Liam seems to expect it now, as he nudges Harry when he wants to roll over, but always leaves enough room for him to curl up against him again.

This is how Zayn comes across the two of them one morning. It was inevitable. The tour bus is small, and the game never had much chance of staying between just Harry and Liam.

“I can’t fucking believe it!” Harry hears an usually loud voice cackling. He blinks his eyes open to see Zayn standing over the sofa, flailing his arms around in amusement. “Louis said you were playing I Spy, but this doesn’t look like any game of I Spy I’ve ever seen, holy shit.”

“What, you’ve never seen Naked I Spy before?” Harry croaks out. He brushes a hand across Liam’s chest and grips at his shoulder. Liam runs a hand through Harry’s hair, his eyes still closed.

“Not something I ever wanted to see.”

“I spy someone being uncharacteristically obnoxious this morning,” Harry says, resting his head back on Liam’s chest again.

“Hate to break it to you,” Zayn says in gently teasing tone, “but it’s noon, sleepyheads. I was awake before you, this is a day that will go down in history.”

Harry can feel Liam startle beneath him. “Is it really noon?”

“Yeah. Apparently we’ll be at the venue in an hour. Might wanna get ready.”

“Where’s the venue?” Harry asks. “Where are we today?”

“Kansas City,” Zayn answers.

“I’ll be honest,” Liam says, raising a hand. “I’m not even sure what state that’s in.”

“Oddly enough, not Kansas,” Harry says, with a grin.

“Now, that’s just mean,” Liam huffs. “It’s a deliberate trick.”

While Harry giggles at Liam, Zayn looks back and forth between them, his mouth wide open. “Oh my god,” he declares. “This is much worse than Niall or Louis said it was.”

“What is?” Liam asks absently.

“You two!”

“Ignore him,” Harry instructs.

“Okay,” Liam agrees with a smile. It’s this easy acquiescence more than anything else that sends a swoop through Harry’s stomach. Liam loves Zayn. And yet, he’s focused on Harry right now, smiling up at him, his eyes all crinkly at the corners.

“I swear to you right now,” Zayn is saying. “If I see any stains on this sofa, I’m setting it on fire, along with the two of you.”

“It’s just drool marks,” Harry says airily, waving a hand.

“Drool isn’t sticky,” Zayn says, considering them with narrowed eyes. “You both need showers, you’re filthy. Absolutely filthy. I never would’ve expected this from you, Liam!” But Zayn is laughing, and he sounds almost proud.

Liam smiles even harder at this, and Harry wants to bite it right off his face. “Get out of here, Malik, if you aren’t going to join in.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I wasn’t kidding, seriously shower and get ready. You’re a collective mess.”

Zayn gives one last laugh, and disappears. Liam shifts underneath Harry, but Harry holds on. He’s finished with Liam leaving him after being found out by one of the other lads.

“You heard him,” Liam murmurs, his lips brushing against Harry’s ear.

“We can get up soon,” Harry says. “Not quite yet.” He buries his face in Liam’s neck. He feels Liam breathing out and relaxing his body, and wonders when Liam had become so agreeable to everything he says. He wonders if it could possibly be because Liam needs this as much as he does.

+

Being on stage makes all the travelling worthwhile. Night after night, the crowd screams and sings, and the bright lights pour down onto Harry, and he thinks for a moment that he could give himself over to this, let it burn him up. Fans scream for him and hold up signs with his name until he isn’t sure what “Harry” means anymore. It’s a short word, and he feels too big for it. Performing is the one thing lately that makes Harry feel too big instead of too small. 

He looks around at the others and he knows they feel it too. He sees it when Louis holds his hand up to his eyes as though to block out the light, and the way he blinks when he remembers that he can’t, that the spotlight is there for him. He sees the way Zayn has to remember how to breathe again after hitting one of his high notes, like he could get lost in singing forever. Harry sees the way Niall’s whole being lights up when he encourages the crowd to sing, and they do, they sing for him. 

And then there’s Liam. Harry is just as drawn to him on stage as he is on the tour bus, maybe even more so because Liam is magnetic. He’s constantly dancing, simultaneously in his own world, and present in the moment. Harry wishes he could be like that, wishes he could perform without feeling like he’s going to float away.

So maybe this is why Harry finds himself sidling up to Liam, standing off in the shadows, taking a sip of water. He hooks an arm around Liam’s hip and speaks right into his ear. “I spy something bright pink.”

Harry pulls back to survey Liam’s reaction. He tilts his head from side to side, considering, and then looks at Harry. “Same rules?” he asks.

“Same as ever.”

Louis is calling for Liam’s help with a microphone, and he can’t stay here tangled up with Harry, playing a game. He simply gives Harry a nod and then runs off to Louis’ side. Harry notices Zayn giving him a look, but he shrugs it off. 

Just after the next song is over, Harry feels fingertips skimming along his waist, breath hot in his ear: “The sign four rows back. Pink glitter. Marry me, Harry.”

It’s probably a weird thing to find sexy, talking about pink glitter and spying fans who want to marry him. But as Harry swivels around to look Liam in the face, he feels that familiar hot swoop in his stomach and he knows what it means. He doesn’t break eye contact with Liam as he lifts a hand up to untie the bandana that’s wrapped around his head. He holds it out behind him for a second, hanging limply in the air, and then tosses it on the ground over by the stairs. The fans are screaming again, but Harry feels just fine about it. He knows it isn’t just to do with him; it’s something between him and Liam, and that makes all the difference.

A bit later on, Liam has to take off his snapback when Harry correctly guesses a water bottle for “something see-through.” 

“Too easy, Liam,” he smirks. But Liam just laughs back at him, running one hand through his hair, and raising the other to the fans cheering for them. 

Zayn, who has been watching all night, runs over and grabs the two of them by the arm. “Seriously? Seriously! You’re doing this right here?” He yells, but he’s laughing. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just races over to Niall, who has been talking to the crowd, and whispers in his ear. He then does the little thing where he tries to find Niall’s nipples and his bellybutton through his t-shirt. Harry smiles and thinks, if Zayn and Niall can have their own private weird game, then he and Liam can too.

Liam steps aside and Harry catches a glimpse of Louis. He isn’t laughing. His eyes are thunderous, and Harry knows nothing good can come of that look. It’s best to avoid him, probably for the rest of the night.

And yet, Louis has a talent for making himself unavoidable. Harry changes into a sports jersey before the encore. It could be a Mavericks jersey, it could be the Spurs. Harry doesn’t know, he’s lost track. Regardless, he pulls it over his head because it’s what he’s supposed to do, and when he emerges he finds himself face-to-face with Louis.

“What are you doing?” He spits out, a question and a challenge. “You can’t possibly be in your right mind.”

“Louis,” Harry begins in a calm voice, because it won’t do any good to try to fight back against him right now. “I never question it when you play games with Liam or Niall on stage.”

“Because my games don’t involve stripping!” Louis explodes. “At least not in public. Seriously, pull it together.”

Lou is coming over to fuss with their hair and straighten their jerseys out. Harry tries to speak out of the corner of his mouth. “Louis, please be calm about this. We didn’t even make it that far. We started too late in the show to make it a big deal.”

“I will not be calm!” Louis hisses, as Lou pushes him toward the stage door. The crowd is going wild with deafening shrieks, and, instead of shouting louder over top of the noise, Louis goes quieter. That’s how Harry knows this is serious. “I know what you’re like,” Louis continues. “Once you get a hold of something or someone, you don’t let it go. You’ll be playing the game again the next show, and the one after that. It’s one thing to do it on the tour bus, but _on stage_ , really? Will the two of you be down to your pants out there in front of everyone and their grandmother?”

“Might do, yeah,” Harry says, because he’s bored of this now.

“You can’t play like that with Liam,” Louis insists, his voice as soft as a fresh snowfall, and as cutting as ice. “He isn’t like you.” 

Harry takes a step backward, reeling. He collects himself and then, against all better judgement, gets in Louis’ face as he sneers, “You’re just jealous that Liam’s playing with someone besides you for once.”

Louis’ nostrils flare and Harry knows he’s struck a nerve. He turns away from Louis and stomps out on stage, because they’re desperately late, the other three already waiting for them. Liam gives Harry a hesitant look, but doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t interact with Harry at all during the encore.

Harry sings his What Makes You Beautiful solo flanked by his band mates, but he doesn’t feel too big to stay grounded anymore. He turns to the side as he finishes singing to see that Liam is already moving away, and the feeling in his stomach this time is like a balloon deflating. 

After the show, Harry half wants Louis to stew in his own misery, but mostly wants to apologize. He isn’t all that sorry—still feels that he was right about the jealousy—but it’s never advisable to be on bad terms with band mates. He also desperately wants to find Liam and, when he catches a glimpse of Zayn and Niall walking to the bus together, he guesses he can find Liam and Louis together.

Liam’s back is to him, and he can see that Louis still looks upset, but that winter frost edge to his eyes is somewhat muted. 

“Louis,” Liam is speaking in a quiet but firm voice. “It’s like you said, it’s none of your business, so please just drop it. Please just _don’t_.”

Louis shakes his head, and catches sight of Harry. His eyes flash in recognition, and Liam turns around.

“Sorry,” Harry says into the silence, feeling rather stupid. “Niall and Zayn are already on the bus, and I was looking for you two.”

“Right,” Louis says. He blinks, trying to pull himself together. He reaches a hand out for Liam’s arm and gives a squeeze. He and Liam look at each other and communicate something that isn’t meant for Harry. “I’ll leave you two alone, then,” Louis finishes, and gives Harry a shy little wave before heading out.

Harry takes a hopeful step toward Liam. Louis doesn’t seem to be too outrageously angry, it must be a good sign. But Liam isn’t smiling at him. Liam isn’t smiling at all.

“Harry, I—” he starts and stops. He wrings his hands, and starts again. “I don’t know what Louis said to you tonight, but I could see that you were upset, and I’m really sorry for it.”

“No,” Harry strides over to Liam now. “It’s okay, it’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

“Hmm, it’s not really about Louis, anyway, is it?” Liam seems to be thinking out loud to himself. He snaps back to reality and looks at Harry. “It’s not nothing. And I’m not sure that it is okay.” Liam gives a hysterical little laugh. “Harry, I think I just need some space right now.” Harry freezes. “I’m so sorry. But I just need some space,” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Yeah,” he says it again, like a broken record.

“I’ll see you back on the bus in a bit, then?” Liam asks, his eyebrows going all furrowed.

“Yeah,” Harry says because third time is the charm.

Only it isn’t a charm because Liam is walking away from him again, and it’s Harry’s least favorite sight. He knows that Liam is right, it isn’t to do with Louis at all. It’s nothing to do with Louis, or Zayn, or Niall, or anyone else. Liam keeps walking away from him, and that can’t be anyone’s fault but his own.

+

Within the next couple of days, Harry falls actually physically ill. He comes down with a bone-rattling cough, now shaken awake in the middle of the night for good reason.

“Jesus Christ!” Niall finally yells, throwing open the curtain to his bunk. “Someone get this man to a doctor, for his sake, and for the sake of my sleeping habits.” The next morning Niall fixes him oatmeal for breakfast, possibly because he feels badly. “Come on, it’s warm, it’ll be good for your throat,” he coaxes.

“I’m not a baby,” Harry protests. “You don’t have to feed me.”

“You are a baby,” Niall insists. “The biggest one I know.” But he pets at Harry’s hair, and Harry can’t complain about Niall too much because it feels nice, especially in between rounds of coughing.

Louis fixes Harry tea from his personal stash of Yorkshire Gold, and that’s how he knows that Louis really is sorry.

Zayn cuddles up with Harry, the only one not afraid of catching his plague of a cough. He lets Harry rest his head on his shoulder, and then lets Harry push him sideways so that he can rest his head on Zayn’s chest. Except, it’s a little bit off. He squirms under Harry.

“Mate, shift down a little,” he complains. “Your hair’s getting in my mouth, it’s everywhere.”

Harry tries to re-situate himself but Zayn is moving too, and he doesn’t leave enough room for Harry. It’s all wrong.

“You know what,” Harry tries not to sound too sulky. “You’d better just leave me alone or you’ll come down with this nastiness, too. Go play Playstation with Louis or something.” Zayn gives him a hard look. “Go ahead, I mean it!” Harry shoos him away.

It turns out that neither Zayn, Louis, nor Niall need to worry about coming down with Harry’s cough. However, Liam needs to worry about it, because he wakes up with it the very next day. The other three find this hilarious and cackle about it more than is strictly necessary, in Harry’s opinion.

Louis keeps yelling extremely helpful things like: “I spy two sickly lovebirds—I mean” he pauses to give an outrageously fake cough, “idiots. Two sickly idiots.”

“Do you think it’s mono?” Niall bursts out. “You know, the kissing disease.” Zayn makes kissy faces at him from across the room. “Zayn, don’t!” Niall shouts. “I’m contagious, save yourself!”

“It had better not be mono,” Paul says grimly, before bundling Harry and Liam off to an American doctor.

The doctor is convinced that it’s no big deal, that it will be healed in a few days with the help of some truly horrific-looking cough syrup. Harry doesn’t say anything about his recent restlessness, about the full-body achiness that he can’t get rid of. It’s really none of this strange doctor’s business. And he certainly doesn’t say anything about how Liam likely came down with the same illness due to extensive kissing.

Harry and Liam are booked into separate hotel rooms for the night and given strict instructions to take their medicine and rest, no shenanigans allowed. That last bit isn’t difficult, as Harry has Liam’s plea of _I just need some space_ stuck in his head on a loop. He knows he and Liam won’t be getting up to any type of shenanigans at all together.

Harry hopes the medicine will make him drowsy, as that might actually give him a chance of getting some decent rest. So far, it only seems to be making his head feel fuzzier than usual. He flops back onto the hotel bed, trying not to think about how much more space Liam would take up next to him.

He hides his face in a pillow and thinks about how Louis had been right: Liam isn’t like him. Harry had wanted too much, slowly pressing in and taking over all of Liam’s time. He had asked for Liam’s body, for Liam to show him his body, because there’s something there that Harry needs. It’s more than just the sex—they had only wanked each other off, after all. Harry needs to be physically close to Liam in order to feel settled within his own body. But Liam seems to get by just fine without all of that. In fact, it had driven him away. It had been a mistake to provoke Liam’s competitive side, Harry thinks. He should have known he would lose.

Harry looks at the bottle of medicine on his nightstand. The liquid is a blinding neon orange color, which doesn’t at all instill confidence about the pleasantness of the taste. He takes out his iPhone to snap a photo, taking it from an angle so as to make the bottle look huge and daunting. 

**@Harry_Styles** somehow not convinced a spoonful of sugar will help… instagram.com/p/8675309

**@Harry_Styles** feeling poorly :(

His mobile begins buzzing almost immediately with replies, which he had expected. However, what he doesn’t expect is a series of texts from his band mates.

**Nialler**  
hahahaaaa we saw that, feeling poorly-stagram 

__**Louis**  
just because you’re ill, it doesn’t mean we’re not making fun of you !! _ _

__**Zayn**  
niall says you’re a big baby and i agree. take your medicine xx _ _

__So, the bastards are spying on him, then. He hopes they’re playing fair and spying on Liam, too. Although, Liam is probably already asleep and well on his way to feeling better because he wouldn’t want to cause anyone the trouble of being ill. Harry sinks into the pillows and tries very hard not to think about what a comfortable pillow Liam’s chest makes. He’s going to have to live without that kind of pillow from now on._ _

__Harry hears his iPhone buzzing again, and he wishes it were his mum because he could really use her right now, even though she couldn’t possibly be awake at this hour. As he predicted, it isn’t his mum. It’s a tweet from Liam._ _

__**@Real_Liam_Payne @Harry_Styles:** i spyyy something red _ _

__Harry needs that doctor again because it’s possible that his heart has stopped. He wonders why Liam tweeted instead of texting. Now the entire internet can see the game. Maybe this is how Liam had felt when Harry instigated the game on stage: surprised out of his own skin. And Harry realizes, with a shock that starts up his heart again, that maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe this is what he’s wanted from Liam all along, as though he knew Liam would be capable of it. He’s wanted to feel settled and at-home, but also challenged and thrilled, all of it at once._ _

__**@Harry_Styles @Real_Liam_Payne:** your crying face because you don’t wanna take the medicine_ _

__**@Real_Liam_Payne @Harry_Styles:** UR FACE._ _

__**@Real_Liam_Payne @Harry_Styles:** no u r correct. my face is reddd from coughing 2 much :(((_ _

__**@Harry_Styles @Real_Liam_Payne:** I got it right? Make sure you follow the rules._ _

__**@Real_Liam_Payne @Harry_Styles:** ;))))_ _

__Harry’s heart really is getting a workout tonight. He can feel it racing in his chest, and has to set his phone down for a moment to focus on breathing. It’s just that he’s pretty sure he’s been flirting with Liam over twitter. And Liam has been flirting back. Tabloid articles are surely being printed about it this very minute. Harry clutches at his face as he realizes that his mum and—oh christ—Gemma will see this, and never let him forget it. He’d better do some damage control._ _

__**@Harry_Styles @Real_Liam_Payne:** Zayn’s already yelled at me to take my medicine, you’d better do the same. Sleep tight, Liam. x_ _

__**@Real_Liam_Payne @Harry_Styles:** hahaaa same he jus texted me. goodnightttt Harry :)_ _

__Harry thinks that’s a perfectly normal exchange of tweets, and is proud of himself for thinking to throw Zayn in there as a buffer. He takes his last dose of medicine for the night, cringing as the acrid-tasting liquid slides down his throat. Despite the unpleasant taste in his mouth, Harry falls back into bed with a faint smile playing across his mouth. He spreads out in the middle of the bed, taking up as much space as he can, because he’s okay with it at the moment. He knows that he isn’t really alone here. Because even though Liam had asked for space of his own, he’s still keeping up the game._ _

__+_ _

__Harry sleeps the whole night through and wakes up feeling refreshed, even though his throat still feels prickly. Paul tells him not to speak, which is annoying. So he spends the whole morning following Paul around, miming everything he says behind his back. It really hits Harry by the time the group has made it through meet and greets and sound check that afternoon. It’s taken all summer, but he doesn’t feel restless anymore; rather, he’s exhausted to the bone._ _

__He and Liam haven’t spoken at all because Liam is supposed to be on complete vocal rest as well—and he’s taking it seriously—but Harry knows that he’s feeling it too, that total energy drain. Maybe it’s a side effect of the medication. Or maybe it’s something else._ _

__Performing is difficult that night in a way it never is for Harry. He doesn’t feel too big or too small. He just feels like someone who’s trying not to cough into the microphone every two minutes. It’s ordinary, like anyone struggling to make it through a workday with a cold. The thing is, Harry never wants standing center stage in front of thousands of people to feel ordinary. He looks out into the sea of screaming people, genuinely unsure what to do with himself._ _

__Without even thinking about it, he looks over to Liam, who is standing at the other side of the stage. Instead of doing his usual dancing and waving, he’s standing still with a dazed expression that Harry imagines is pretty similar to his own his own face at the moment. He takes a couple of steps toward Liam, and then stops himself. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe this is what Liam meant, that he needs space on stage, too. So many maybes._ _

__Harry thinks back to that early morning on the bus when he first started the game between himself and Liam. At the time he hadn’t put much thought into the words “I spy” but, as soon as he said it, he knew that it could be something good. He knew that it could be something small just for himself and Liam, and that was all he wanted: to know where they were, and to know that he and Liam had something between themselves._ _

__He remembers bits and pieces of their conversation from that morning. Liam had wanted an answer about why he was awake, why he couldn’t sleep, but Harry couldn’t tell him then because he hadn’t yet known himself. Then he had warned Liam about being healthy. "You’ll crash" he had said. Harry tilts his head and looks at Liam’s unfocused expression._ _

__Harry strides across the stage, singing his part in the chorus like usual so as not to arouse any suspicion. The others don’t know that something is wrong because they can’t feel it, but Harry can. It’s that sickness, that exhaustion clawing its way up his body, burning in his throat just before pulling him under. It makes perfect sense to Harry that he knows what’s going to happen. Liam had caught it from him, after all._ _

__He gets to Liam just as his knees begin to buckle underneath him, and Harry slings an arm around his waist to hold him up. Liam is _heavy_ (it must be all those horrible muscles) but Harry manages to drag him over to the side of the stage. Louis is looking over at them now, eyes all sharp with worry, but Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t think that Liam’s actually unconscious or anything horrific. He’s just not able to function, in the same way that Harry might not have been if he hadn’t been spurred into action. _ _

__Harry sits down on the side stage with Liam in his lap, reaches for a bottle of water, and pours it out over Liam’s face. Liam blinks and sputters, and Harry’s whole body relaxes in relief._ _

__“You shithead!” he whispers in Liam’s ear, still hugging him around the waist. “Scared me half to death. How do you feel?”_ _

__“Wet,” Liam croaks, wiping water out of his eyes._ _

__“I didn’t know what else to do,” Harry confesses. Zayn is staring at them now, and Harry needs to know that Liam is okay. They all need to know. He gives a gentle squeeze at Liam’s hip._ _

__Liam takes a deep breath. “I’m okay. I think I’m okay now.”_ _

__Harry gives Zayn a nod, which he returns before running over to Louis and Niall, who are flailing their arms around in some kind of bizarre dance they seem to have just invented._ _

__Liam is rubbing one hand over his throat. “My throat still feels scratchy. That medicine is horrid.” He turns to look at Harry, eyebrows furrowing together. “Did you grab me? I don’t remember you being nearby.”_ _

__“I wasn’t nearby,” Harry whispers. “But I saw you, I saw your face. I knew what was going to happen. My throat is scratchy, too.”_ _

__For a split second, Liam’s eyebrows draw together even more before smoothing out completely. Harry wonders if that means he understands. He could ask. Their faces are so close, they’re breathing the same air, and Harry can see a few droplets of water trickling down Liam’s cheeks. Harry doesn’t ask because Liam had said that he needed space, and Harry doesn’t want to encroach too far._ _

__“Are you saying,” Liam whispers with the hint of a grin, “that you spied me?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Harry bites his lip. “I spied you.”_ _

__Liam grins at him for a moment longer, then leaps up as though he’s suddenly remembered they’re in the middle of a concert. Louis and Niall have been valiantly stalling for at least five minutes now while Zayn has mostly laughed at the two of them. Liam bounds over to the group of them._ _

__“Sorry about that!” Liam apologizes to the audience. “Harry had to help me with something for a moment there.” Harry knows that the other three were genuinely worried—scared out of their own skins, probably—because none of them make fun of this statement._ _

__Harry remains seated at the edge of the stage, as there’s a short pause while everyone gets ready for the next song (the band had been confused too). Liam smiles at Zayn, Louis, and Niall each in turn. It’s his friendliest smile, as though absolutely nothing is wrong. But just before launching into his part in the song, he turns back to look at Harry. Harry finds himself gasping out loud as he realizes that Liam isn’t smiling at him. Harry doesn’t feel ordinary at all anymore because Liam is levelling him with the most serious look Harry’s ever seen in his brown eyes. It’s a look that speaks of an intense understanding, and it’s aimed solely at him._ _

__+_ _

__After the show, Harry can’t get near Liam backstage. He’s surrounded by about fifty adults—plus he’s got Niall, Louis, and Zayn hanging off of him. Harry changes into a button-down flannel shirt and stays at the periphery of the commotion._ _

__“You don’t seem to be running a fever,” Lou says, feeling Liam’s forehead and then stroking his cheek in a motherly kind of way. Liam smiles at her like he’s grateful for the kind attention. Harry remembers how he had wanted his own mum last night, thinks Liam probably deserves to have his mum teleported here to be with him._ _

__“I’ve been on the phone to the doctor,” Paul announces, breaking into the middle of the group. “He says you need to drink more fluids while you’re on medication.”_ _

__“What exactly happened, anyway?” Zayn asks in a quiet voice._ _

__“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Liam shrugs. “Everything went fuzzy around the edges, and then black for a moment. I don’t think I could’ve been too out of it though because Harry pouring the water all over my face brought me right back.”_ _

__Harry’s cough betrays him right at that moment, echoing loudly around the room, causing everyone to look around._ _

__“There’s Harry!” Niall shouts, rather unnecessarily after the coughing display. “Harry, tell us what happened.”_ _

__All eyes in the room turn to him, and it must be nearly everyone who helps them on tour. Harry tries to make himself as small as possible in the face of this attention. He can’t explain to all of these people what had actually happened._ _

__“I can’t tell you much more than Liam did,” he says with a wry smile. “I just happened to be looking over at the right time, and I saw that Liam wasn’t doing well. I walked over to check on him, and I was just in time to catch him.”_ _

__“Lucky that you happened to be looking over at just the right moment,” Louis says, his eyes narrowed in contemplation._ _

__“Yes,” Liam cuts in. “It was lucky.”_ _

__He looks straight across the room to Harry, that look of innate understanding still in his eyes. Harry thinks about targets and bullseyes again, but wonders if he’s had it backwards this whole time. As the warmth of Liam’s gaze rolls over him, he thinks maybe he’s the target. And maybe he doesn’t mind that._ _

__“The really lucky thing,” Paul says, “is that it’s another hotel night tonight. That means you two invalids can get as much rest as possible again. We need you all to be healthy. We can’t have anything like this happening again.”_ _

__“I don’t think it will happen again,” Liam says, still looking at Harry._ _

__

__The boys file back on the bus to get their hotel for the night, and Harry notices Louis still eyeing up him and Liam with a certain look. He’s too tired to rile Louis up, so he decides to avoid both Louis and Liam for the moment. Besides, he’s on the hunt for clean clothes—he doesn’t care who it belongs to—there must be a clean t-shirt stashed somewhere on the bus._ _

__However, once again, Louis is not in the mood to be avoided. He tracks Harry down by the bunks, Harry can hear his feet stomping down the aisle. He turns around and is surprised to see Louis with Liam in tow, dragging him by the wrist._ _

__Louis flings Liam toward Harry and takes a step back. “There!” he declares. Harry has no idea what’s happening. “It’s been arranged,” Louis explains. “So don’t argue with me. You two are staying on the bus tonight. Zayn and I have tidied up the lounge a bit, and you can have it to yourselves for the whole night. It will be an almighty sacrifice, but Niall, Zayn, and I can handle a hotel room for one night.”_ _

__“Louis,” Liam interrupts. “I’m sorry, but what on earth are you talking about? Paul said Harry and I should take the hotel rooms.” Harry is relieved that Liam seems just as lost as he feels._ _

__Louis rolls his eyes. “I know exactly what Paul said, but here’s the thing: there’s something,” he waves his hand in a vague motion between Harry and Liam, “going on here. And you need to work out what it is right here tonight, so that Harry stops moping around, and Liam doesn’t faint during concerts anymore.”_ _

__“Hey!” Harry and Liam both protest, but Louis holds up a silencing hand._ _

__“It just seems appropriate that you stay on the bus, alright? You can play your little sex I Spy game, and cough up all your lungs together, and be very romantic.”_ _

__“Louis,” Harry laughs. “What’s gotten into you?”_ _

__“Absolutely nothing, except that I acted like an idiot, and I’m sorry for it. Now I would very much like for you two to stop acting like idiots as well.” Louis’ shoulders sag for a moment, and his usual flurry of emotions melt away until it’s just genuine concern shining through. “Take care of each other, okay?”_ _

__It sounds like he really wants to know that they will, and Harry could almost roll his eyes at Louis. Of course that’s what he had been nervous about all along, but he couldn’t just say it, had to dress it up in all his biting fury. Harry looks at Liam, who is already looking at him._ _

__“We will,” Harry assures, giving Liam a little nod, and then looking at Louis._ _

__“Take care of yourself, Tommo,” Liam tells Louis._ _

__“Already sorted,” Louis waves a hand around. “Niall and Zayn are waiting on me hand and foot.”_ _

__“Good luck with that,” Liam snarks. “They’ll already be playing video games and will obviously spend the whole night ignoring you.”_ _

__“That is a terrible thing to say!” Louis looks mock-wounded._ _

__“I’m not sorry,” Liam laughs. Louis gives him a smile like he’s glad to hear that._ _

__“Goodnight, you spies,” Louis says. He gives Harry a look over his shoulder as he leaves, and Harry gives him a smile in return to let him know that he’s done alright._ _

__Then Harry is left alone with Liam. The silence stretches for a moment. Liam is looking at him with a gentle expression, but Harry isn’t sure how to respond. He’s not sure what’s okay and what isn’t._ _

__“I was just looking for some clean laundry,” he explains, mentally kicking himself for sounding so boring. “I can just sleep here in my bunk, and you can have the lounge. I know you said you wanted space. It’s fine.”_ _

__Liam looks at him like he’s being the silliest person alive, and then takes him by the hand. “Come on,” he says, and leads Harry down the aisle to the lounge._ _

__“Oh, they really did tidy in here!” Harry exclaims in surprise._ _

__“They folded a blanket, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Liam deadpans._ _

__Harry could kiss him then, watching as Liam’s mouth curls up into a smile as he surveys the light cleaning job done in the lounge. Liam had asked for space, but Harry had still managed to make him sick. Then he had collapsed on stage because of exhaustion and illness, but, through it all, he doesn’t seem to be upset with Harry. He had led Harry back here to the lounge with him, and he’s smiling. Harry really could kiss him._ _

__He doesn’t think that’s allowed though, so he withdraws his hand from Liam’s and folds his arms across his chest, trying to physically hold himself together._ _

__Liam looks down at his empty hand, and then up at Harry. “I’m such an idiot,” he says._ _

__“You are not.”_ _

__“Yes, I really am. I told you I needed space, but I didn’t explain why, and that wasn’t very fair of me.”_ _

__“I understand,” Harry interrupts, holding up a hand. “I asked you to play a game, but then I ended up taking over all of your time. It was too much. I was too much. I get like that sometimes. It’s not nice, it’s just selfish of me. I’m sorry, Liam.”_ _

__“No Harry, don’t apologize. This is why I’m an idiot. None of that was a problem at all for me, and I let you think that it was.” Liam shakes his head, upset with himself. Harry reaches a tentative hand back out to Liam, circles around his wrist and then holds on._ _

__“Hey,” he whispers. “It’s alright.”_ _

__“We were spending a lot of time together, just the two of us,” Liam begins. “It was fun and easy. I liked it. And I didn’t give it too much thought, which is rare for me. But the other lads all noticed, and _they_ seemed to be giving it a lot of thought. Clearly you saw that Louis was upset, and, the thing is, he’s a lunatic, but he doesn’t generally get upset over nothing. At least not when it comes to the band. That made me realize, I should start giving this,” he motions between himself and Harry, “some serious thought. Because you deserve that, you deserve to be taken seriously. And for some stupid reason, I thought it would be better to think about this by myself instead of just telling you all of this right away.”_ _

__“That’s quite a lot to tell,” Harry says gently. “It’s okay that you took your time to articulate it.” He looks down at the space between himself and Liam. He looks at his outstretched arm and his hand, still holding onto Liam, connecting them. “I don’t know exactly what this is between us. In a way, we were just playing a silly game.”_ _

__“Was it just a silly game though?” Liam asks, his voice low._ _

__Harry’s whole body sags for a moment, completely caught out. Even if Liam isn’t like him, he somehow always has the ability to cut through Harry’s bullshit, to cut right to his vulnerable core, without even seeming to try. Harry meets Liam’s gaze and is met with that warm understanding. It buoys him back up, helping him keep his head above water, and he takes a deep breath._ _

__“I had been feeling strange—almost ill—for awhile before this cough set in. It was like a kind of homesickness. When I woke up that one morning and realized that I had no fucking clue where I was in the world, it was the most terrifying thing. Playing a dumb kids game with you seemed to be the only way to cope, and you went along with it. Then I thought I would be really clever and make it more of an adult game, and you still went along with it. You matched me, and outmatched me. I’m glad you did because I needed it, more than I knew I could need something. Being with you is the only time when I really know where I am, Liam.” Liam has maintained eye contact with Harry through this entire speech, and even though Harry spends most of his days performing to thousands of people, this intent audience of one is the most daunting he’s ever encountered. Because he knows he has to admit the truth here. “So, no, it isn’t just a silly game for me. It never was.”_ _

__Liam drops Harry’s hand and is silent for a long moment. Harry tries not to panic, willing his hands not to shake. Liam’s allowed a minute to process that rambling speech, after all. Then Liam steps all the way into Harry’s space, and Harry finds his hands shaking anyway because he wants this so badly._ _

__“I spy,” Liam says, his voice hoarse, “a shirt that needs to be laundered very badly. In fact it’s so dirty, it probably shouldn’t be worn at all.”_ _

__“Liam,” Harry whispers. “This isn’t how the game is played.”_ _

__Liam merely raises an eyebrow, and continues. “I spy some buttons that need to be undone.”_ _

__He leans in and gently undoes each button on Harry’s flannel shirt. Harry holds his breath because Liam is being so careful, and it makes him feels as though he might shatter. Liam reaches up to his shoulders, pushes the shirt off, and lets it fall onto the floor. Harry breathes out._ _

__“I’ve been thinking,” Liam says in a perfectly normal tone of voice, as though undressing Harry is an ordinary activity for him. And Harry realizes with a jolt, that it sort of is. “We’ve spent a bit of time talking about knowing where we are, and making ourselves at home. The thing I’ve come to realize is that home is wherever you decide it is, and that’s all there is to it.” Harry nods, trying to see where he’s going with this, hoping that Liam will lead him a little further. “So,” Liam continues, “I spy—”_ _

__“Oh my god,” Harry bursts out laughing. “Are you actually going to say that you spy home?” Harry feels hysterical, he can’t help himself. Liam is touching him now, running a hand over the bare skin of his shoulders, then sliding up to grip the back of his neck._ _

__“I was going to say,” Liam whispers in Harry’s ear, “I spy a pair of trousers that need to be taken off.”_ _

__“Are you saying that you belong in my trousers?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__Harry really can’t argue with that. He lets Liam help him step out of his trousers so that he’s in just his pants. Then he undresses Liam in the same way. He can’t help wanting to touch, knowing that he’s allowed to now without having to worry about keeping enough space between them. He wraps an arm around Liam’s waist, remembering how he had done this same action earlier in the evening under different circumstances, and how he had known Liam’s body in exactly the same way as he knows his own._ _

__Harry keeps his arm around Liam, and they fall together onto the big sofa that’s been pulled out into a bed for them. They crowd in close together, but still facing each other. Harry has something important to say._ _

__“You know, normally I would want to do a lot more besides just undressing you, but,” he motions to his throat. “I thought it would be more polite not to cough phlegm all over you.”_ _

__Liam laughs as best he can without going into a coughing fit. “How terribly thoughtful of you, darling.” He pets at Harry’s hair a little bit, and Harry closes his eyes. “Get some rest,” Liam whispers. “Who knows, maybe we’ll feel better tomorrow.” Harry opens his eyes again to see Liam waggling his eyebrows suggestively._ _

__“I have a feeling that we will,” he answers with a smile._ _

__Harry leans forward because Liam doesn’t need space anymore and, cough or not, nothing is going to stop him from kissing Liam right now. They kiss softly, Liam’s lips warm against his own. Liam is making little contented sighing noises into his mouth, and Harry tries to catch them. They had both forgotten to take their medication before bed, but Harry isn’t worried. He can’t imagine anything more healing than this right here: absorbing Liam’s little happy sighs with his own mouth, feeling them slide down his throat, and smiling against Liam’s mouth as he feels that old ever-present ache being instantly soothed._ _


End file.
